


Things gained, things lost, things borrowed

by miss_Carrot



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Childhood, Cross-Generational Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Major Illness, Minor Character Death, Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_Carrot/pseuds/miss_Carrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins, a young hobbit suffering from a serious heart condition, moves back to his childhood home, Bag End in the Shire, to regain his strength and find some rest. But before he even sets foot in the house, he catches a sight of a tiny person running away and hiding in the nooks of the house. Apparently his mother's stories are true and Bag End is inhabited by Tiny Folk - creatures smaller even than hobbits, who live under the floors and within the walls of hobbit holes. But how does one befriend people who don't really want to be seen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things gained, things lost, things borrowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MSock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSock/gifts).



> Fic written for [Hobbit Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2014](http://hobbitreversebang.tumblr.com/), for the [Arrietty!AU](http://m-sock.tumblr.com/post/93870142977/a-very-very-rough-draft-of-my-first-entry-for-the) prompt by M-Sock. I'm afraid it turned out to be sadder than you expected, but I hope that you still like it a bit!
> 
> M-Sock drew the most wonderful, cutest art ever - [please check it out here!](http://m-sock.tumblr.com/post/105048781247/art-by-m-sock-things-gained-things-lost-things)
> 
> Huge thanks go to:  
> \- M-Sock, for the great prompt and the wonderful art;  
> \- manarai, for helping me with the fic outline and correcting the worst mistakes;  
> \- and HRBB mods for coming up with such a great challenge.  
> You are all lovely, guys!
> 
> Please, don't forget to check out M-Sock's art and give it the love it deserves. Also, keep tabs on [ the HRBB page ](http://hobbitreversebang.tumblr.com/tagged/entries)for more entries to follow!

The weeks which lead to the most extraordinary summer of the life of Bilbo Baggins were an absolute nightmare. His mother, still shaken and grieving behind her calm and composed demeanour, run frantically from one elven healer to another looking for any tinge of hope. Bilbo himself was constantly poked, prodded, and examined by said healers, filled in with bitter mixtures, and then poked some more. He resigned himself to it, even though he felt it to be a lost cause and he would prefer to be left in peace, as the ministrations would not help anyway. At one point, after a particularly nasty examination, he even said so to his mother and regretted it instantly, as the look of her face was hard to bear.

“It is not pointless, my love,” she said then, hugging him tightly. “There is a cure and we will find it, I promise you.”

But the very next day he was woken up by an unusual rustle which turned out to be the sound of his clothes and books being thrown into a chest.

“You will go back to Bag End for summer, to rest a little,” his mother explained, and her smile looked a bit more like ‘the lovely, cheeky Tookish grin’ which his father had held so dearly. “You do remember Bag End, don’t you, Bilbo?”

“There was something… The swing on the old cherry tree?” He said, still puzzled about the sudden change in his mother’s plans. He left Bag End when he was not older than ten, but he did remember the clouds of white blossoms hovering over his head.

“Oh, you loved the swing – your father made it for you. Now you can go there and… and admire his craftsmanship. He built it all with his own hands and you should see it, you know.”

“Won’t you pack your things, mum?” Bilbo said after a while. The chest was almost full, and she didn’t put in anything of hers yet.

Belladonna raised her eyes and shook her head. “I am not going with you, love. You will travel to Bag End to rest, and I will go to look for a cure for you. And I will find it, as I promised – you never doubt that, my dearest boy.”

This is how Bilbo’s first lone journey started. He spent most of it laying in a jumping carriage and looking through a tiny window. What he saw were mostly trees, wildly green in the sun. They seemed greener and greener the farther from Rivendell he travelled; sometimes his eyes almost hurt from it. Or maybe it was because he was here alone, without his father who died, or his mother who ventured into the wild for a cure for his weak heart which probably didn’t exist at all.

But when he finally arrived at Bag End in the Shire, the sole sight of it cast away all the dark thoughts though. It was so different from what he was used to – nothing like the ornate, almost willowy lines of elven buildings or compact forms of the houses of men. It was round on the edges and almost _soft_ , an integral part of the grassy hill. Dragging his small bag behind him, he slowly climbed the stone stairs, relishing in their shape and size, so perfect for a hobbit’s foot. Now he understood why his father had spoken about Bag End so fondly.

He stood in front of the round, faded green door and looked around, unsure what to do now. Should he knock, or go to the nearest house to ask for a key? His mother said there would be someone to greet him, so maybe he should just sit in the garden and wait?

Deciding upon the last option, Bilbo moved towards the large bush of yellow flowers to sit in its shade when he saw something strange. A tiny creature slid down a flower stem nearby, cowered to the ground and quickly disappeared in the high grass, heading towards the house. Bilbo blinked several times, unsure what to think of it – it could have been a mouse, or a small lizard even, but it looked like a tiny hobbit, no bigger than Bilbo’s finger. He could have sworn that the creature even dragged a bag similar to his own! Scrambling up on his knees, he tried to track its path in the grass, crawling towards the door, but there were no footprints left; it has probably run away and hid in the small hole by the threshold.

Suddenly the door swung open, passing Bilbo’s head just by mere inches.

“Cousin dear!” called a young hobbit lady in ruffled green dress. She looked down at Bilbo, paled visibly and shrieked, “Oh Green Mother, you’re dying!” Then she kneeled down by his side and put ear to his chest, while yelling all the time, “Otho, come here! Bring cold water and a blanket, quickly! Don’t you worry, cousin dear, you’ll be right as rain,” she turned to Bilbo, her voice only slightly quieter. “Your heart is still beating, you know, so you will be all right…”

“I, uh, I am all right,” Bilbo assured the back of the lady’s head. All the locks on it jumped, and then Bilbo faced the upturned nose and widened brown eyes with clear complaint in them, _how dare you be all right when I am trying to save you here?_. “I just, err, observed nature. You know, little mice around here…”

“Mice? MICE?! Otho!” The lady jumped to her feet, dragging Bilbo up as well. The power of her voice was paralyzing; if he thought he shrieked loud before, he had no word to describe her screams now.

Another hobbit appeared in the door, holding a glass of water and a blanket, looking around with mild confusion all over his face. Bilbo supposed that it must be Otho Sackville-Baggins, his distant cousin; the slightly goofy face seemed somehow familiar. The lady took the water, gulped it down, and handed the empty glass back.

“Bilbo says that there are mice around. Mice, do you hear me?!” She took the blanket and handed it to Bilbo. “You will do something about it, Otho, or I will scream! I won’t stand mice in my… uh, I mean here. And you,” she turned to Bilbo and nudged him towards the lawn, “go on the grass if you want to observe your nature, for Mother’s sake, I could hit you with the door! And use a blanket, silly, or you’ll catch a cold. Elevenses in thirty minutes,” she announced finally, took Bilbo’s bag and went inside the house, gesturing Otho to bring in Bilbo’s chest which the coachman unloaded simply on the road.

The door was left ajar, and Bilbo peeked inside, wondering whether he should enter or not. He decided to use the thirty minutes to recover from the lady’s overpowering voice instead, and went to the lawn. But before he lied down, the lady run out of the house to him, took his right hand in both hers and shook it vigorously.

“But where are my manners! I am Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, wife of Otho, and thus a new cousin to you, Bilbo dear! We’ll both take care of you while you’re there, so don’t you worry, I say! Now, enjoy your sun!”

With that, she finally left him alone. The silence rang in his ears, and only a few moments later he realized that it’s actually birds who resumed their singing.

*

The elevenses, it seemed, were a serious business in Bag End under Lobelia’s rule. She served three kinds of scones, two flavours of biscuits, and a sponge cake with walnut cream. Which, apparently, was as simple menu as could be.

“I haven’t had enough time,” she explained herself, munching on a rosehip jam scone. “I’d make something fancy otherwise, I promise. But we might throw a surprise welcome-home party on seventhday evening, what do you think, Bilbo dear? Oh, but you come here to rest, and you’re probably exhausted after your journey. This Rivendell is somewhere at the end of the world, isn’t it.”

Bilbo nodded politely, but it really wasn’t necessary. Lobelia didn’t ask one question she didn’t plan to answer herself.

“Yes, so I think, maybe next week is a better idea, wouldn’t you agree? But of course it is, so – the next seventhday we have a surprise welcome-home party!”

After they ate all the pastries and drank gallons of tea, Lobelia shooed her husband off to do “something useful”, as she put it, and gave Bilbo a tour around the house which was absolutely weird. Not only because of her quirky behaviour – she showed him around like the lady of the house, and chastised herself for it almost every time when she remembered that it’s not actually her house but his. But mostly because while he didn’t remember much of Bag End and was actually grateful for the tour, Bilbo had some glimpses of his childhood here. The ornate treasure chest stood just where he remembered it, right under the small round window, so that he could crawl on it and peek outside when he was too short to see anything. There were clouds painted on the ceiling of his old room, and though it was faded, a bright yellow sun smiled to him from above.  The smells in the kitchen weren’t familiar, but the rush of excitement when he entered the pantry rather was.

Then he went to explore the garden, full of weeds, grass, and wild oats, but also of sweet pale peonies and tiny yellow roses creeping up the trees. He found the old seesaw on the cherry tree and sat on it, trying to remember his father swinging him up and down, until Lobelia run out screaming that the ropes are surely rotten and he would break his neck. Bilbo moved then to the large bushes of jasmine and honeysuckle, but he was instructed not to rest under them for too long due to their intoxicating smell. Despite the warnings, he sat under the honeysuckle bush and observed its surroundings keenly, hoping to see another small creature. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the stories his mother told him, rocking him on her knees under the jasmine bush – stories about tiny Fairies living in the flowers and kissing them open each morning or stories about the Tiny Folk, building their houses in hobbit holes’ walls, feasting in the pantry each night, and helping with some small repairs and house chores.

He had no idea that he drifted away until Lobelia came panicking that he got poisoned by the jasmine shrubs. There was a luncheon to be had, and then dinner, dessert, and supper, and in between of the meals he helped unpack his things and peeled carrots, and listened to Lobelia reciting the names of all the kith and kin ten generations back, each accompanied by a piece of juicy gossip. But after he had his evening cookie and a cup of cocoa, when he was falling asleep in his old bed, his head was still full of half-forgotten stories of the Tiny Folk, and Fairies, and other lovely creatures his mother had sworn lived just in their garden. It was almost like he heard the tiny voices commenting his arrival, discussing it, and arguing on it. There were some light grating, like someone very small moved something too big for them to handle. And then, much later, he was sure that heard the old lullaby his parents used to sing to him every night when he was little, sung in high, clear voice. But he had to imagine that one though – only his mother and his father knew the song, and there was none of them beside him now to cheer him up in this lovely but strange place.

*

Late in the night something woke Bilbo up; he was sure he just had the strangest of dreams, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was and why it left him so unsettled. He tried to fall asleep again, but he only tossed and turned in the sheets, becoming more and more irritated. Finally he decided to drink some more warm milk, hoping that it will help. He tiptoed to the kitchen, careful not to wake his overeager new cousin, felt for a small pot, and fanned the embers glowing under the stove. Warm light filled the kitchen and Bilbo couldn’t but smile at the dancing shadows – he seemed to recall them, too. Looking for milk, he turned towards the pantry, and then he saw them.

Two tiny figures, frozen in utter terror, looked at him with their hands on a biscuit cookie they had retrieved from the can nearby. Bilbo didn’t move – he didn’t dare even blink or breathe louder, because he didn’t want to scare them away. He couldn’t believe his own eyes, but there they were, the Tiny Folk, living in the hobbit holes just like his mother had said.

“Fíli! Kíli! Move before the hob-bean sees you!”

The whisper, though barely audible even to very focused Bilbo, broke the spell. The Tiny Folks almost jumped in place and rushed to hide behind the tea can. Unfortunately, the one going backwards didn’t quite make it; he hit the can with his back and the bundle he had strapped to his shoulders scattered on the shelf and floor. They both froze again, waiting for Bilbo’s reaction; when there was none, they adjusted their grip on the cookie and even so slowly hid behind the tea can.

Bilbo waited for a long while before he dared move; only after even the lightest of rustles ceased, he went towards the shelf and examined the remains of the bundle, which turned out to be broken pieces of long noodles. He gathered them all and threw to the oven, not sure why he was doing it but sure that he had to. Then he warmed up some milk, drank it and went straight to bed. Yet before he left the kitchen, he turned towards the pantry once again.

“Don’t be afraid, Tiny Folk. I mean you no harm,” he whispered, hoping that they would hear and believe him.

*

The next day Otho left early in the morning, to oversee the preparation to the oat harvest, as Lobelia explained during the breakfast, and she herself was to finish the trimmings on her new hat (which looked a bit like a birthday cake already, Bilbo thought to himself) and visit poor old missus Proudfoot for the elevenses. She agreed to leave Bilbo alone after he promised her that he’ll stay in the shadow during the midday, eat all the sandwiches and scones she left for him and drink all the lemonade. She had also to personally check if the blanket didn’t get moist from the dew before she left to missus Proudfoot, the huge construction of patterned muslin, ribbons, straw, and silk flowers swaying on her head as she went.

Bilbo took some of his father’s old sketchbooks and browsed through them lazily, but in fact he was constantly looking at the honeysuckle, the small crack in the threshold, and the kitchen window. A small voice in his head kept telling him that he only imagined the Tiny Folk, that it was simply a trick played by his mind, too tired from fighting with the illness to think properly, but Bilbo refused to listen to it. He saw them with his own eyes, he touched the noodles, and most importantly, he was not mad. The last thought prompted him to move to the kitchen and check the shelf where he saw the Tiny Folk yesterday. He had to stand on a stool to see it properly – there were small biscuit crumbles all over it; they could be left by anyone really, but Bilbo doubted that Lobelia would tolerate them, so it probably wasn’t her nor Otho. It was the Tiny Folk then – and if so, Bilbo had to help his friends.

His friends, he thought with a lopsided smile which made him look much older than he actually was. There weren’t many of his friends actually – oh, the Elves were nice and kind to him for sure, but he was a sick hobbit child, and they were, well, some perfect immortal creatures with a beatific smile plastered to their faces. He had surely met some other hobbits around his age when he had lived in Bag End before, but he didn’t really remember them. There was his father, his mother, and himself, and that was more than enough until now. Because now he met the Tiny Folk, and he would become their friend and protector.

Having made this resolution, Bilbo quickly wiped the crumbs with his sleeve and looked around the kitchen. He grabbed three long noodles from a jar and broke them into small pieces, just like the ones he burned yesterday. Rummaging through the kitchen for other items which could be of use for the Tiny Folk, he gathered a few small bay leaves, tree different cookies, some blocks of dark sugar, and – after climbing on the cooled down oven – a dried mushroom. All these items constituted quite an impressive loot, barely fitting in Bilbo’s trousers pockets. Placing it all under the threshold wouldn’t be wise, he decided, so he hid the lot under his bed and took only the noodles with him. Of course he could just place them in the crack and leave them be – sharing food was a clear gesture of friendship and good intentions which didn’t require any additional explanations – but Bilbo was too eager to meet his new friends again to do so. He resolved to write a small note and place it under the noodles, but execution of this idea was more complicated than he thought. Tearing a scrap of paper from his father’s notebook was simple enough, but writing something on it with letters which would not be bigger that the Tiny Folk themselves was a challenge. He managed it though, squeezed all the stuff in the crack in the threshold and lied down on the blanket just moments before Lobelia appeared down the footpath, singing falsely to herself. Smiling and waving at her like the most innocent of hobbits, Bilbo couldn’t suppress a delighted shiver; it must have been the lovely feeling of an accomplished mischief, something his mother so frequently told him about. He should write to her about it, and soon – she surely missed him as much as he did her.

There was still some time before the luncheon, and Bilbo decided to spend it looking at the sketchbook, if only to calm himself a bit after this thrilling endeavour. But he easily got captured by the drawings, as they were fascinating indeed. There was a number of portraits of his mother, himself as a little baby, and some other hobbits, some of whom he almost recognised, mixed with some quickly sketched landscapes, and very detailed designs of some furniture items, wood carvings, and toys (including Bilbo’s beloved wooden sheep, safely tucked somewhere in his chest). Leafing through the pages, he briefly looked at the descriptions and notes, promising himself to read them later on, when suddenly he spotted something and almost gasped aloud.

 _Bella calls them ‘Tiny Folk’, but I am sure I heard them calling themselves ‘Borrowers’_ , the note said; it accompanied a quick sketch of a young woman drawing water with something which looked just like a thimble. She had a sword by her side, most probably made out of a sewing needle, and a bunch of something – noodles? – strapped on her back. _I wonder how many of them live here. Yesterday they…_

“Have you gone deaf, Bilbo dear? Come for the luncheon!”

He startled and shut the book closed with a force that surprised even himself. Then he looked at Lobelia, blinking and breathing heavily. Who would think that someone wearing so many rustling ruffles would be so sneaky!

“Oh dear Green Mother, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” she yelled, and Bilbo used all his will not to startle again. “You won’t have a heart attack, will you? Wait, don’t get up so suddenly…!”

Bilbo nodded at Lobelia’s babbling without really listening to it. Borrowers, he kept thinking, they call themselves Borrowers. My mother and father saw them. They are _real_.

Upon entering the house he peeked at the crack in the threshold where his offerings lied; he hoped that the Tiny Folk would receive his gift and come to meet him soon. He just couldn’t wait for it.

*

“We have to move straightaway.”

Dís put down the hooked spear she was making out of a hat pin for Fíli and looked at her brother like he had gone mad.

“You can’t be serious,” she said dismissively, but Thorin just sat down wearily and sighed instead of going into a long rant on how the hob-beans were crazy, loud, and insufferable. “Wait, you are serious, aren’t you? Were we spotted? Is it the boys…?”

“I think so. There is a bunch of noodles in the entrance – and a letter at that!”

“A _letter_? From a hob-bean? What does it say?”

“How on earth would I know! I didn’t touch it, for heaven’s sake.”

Dís huffed as if she was to say something more, but she stopped herself and got back to wrapping the spear shaft with a cord, glancing up at Thorin time and again. Without much difficulty she could read his thoughts in his face, arguments weighing against each other. The risk of being found and caught on the one hand, the risk of moving to a new home with a crippled sister and her two irresponsible sons on the other. Dís stifled a sigh and tied the cord into a secure loop around the shaft.

“You said that the hob-bean is a child,” she said finally, looking up to see Thorin’s confirming nod. “Then, the grown-up hob-beans won’t believe him, even if he tells anyone. And besides, the child is to be here only for some time, we can wait him out.”

Thorin looked back at her and while he didn’t actually smile, his face lightened up a bit. He took the spear from her and examined the head which she hammered down to make it flat and curved, more useful for reaching for things.

“We have enough food to lie low for a bit,” he agreed, giving the spear back with an approving nod. Not that Dís needed his approval, she was far more accomplished in the craft that he was. “The soap may run out though…”

“We’ll live,” she said with a short laugh. “I’ll have you all air your feet twice a day is all.”

Dís stood up, put the spear away by the door, and moved towards the kitchen, humming quietly. Thorin watched her move and a frown reappeared on his face. Here, with all the handles and lines they installed, and with the crutches just in the reach she was as independent as she could be, given her bad leg. To arrange space like this in a new house – to find a new house and move her there in the first place – seemed impossible for him right now. He would do this, of course, but… maybe laying low and waiting for the little hob-bean to go back to wherever the fate had brought him from wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Mum! Mum, look!”

The rumble of two pair of feet coming from the entry hall made both Thorin and Dís cringe. A loud, thumping Borrower was as good as gone – they repeated it for years now, but it seemed that Kíli and Fíli were immune to this simple truth.

They run into the kitchen, dropped a bunch of noodles and a hunk of paper onto the table and looked at their mother and uncle all beaming, clearly waiting for the praise.

“It’s noodles,” Fíli announced proudly after a long pause, when no word of compliment came. “We borrowed them!”

“Yes, they all but waited for us by the door! And mum, we have a picture for you!” Kíli took the paper he’d just thrown onto the table, unfolded it and shown to Dís. “I mean, it’s not very pretty, and it has no colours but… what, mum, don’t you like it?”

“It’s not a picture, Kíli,” Dís said in the weak voice. Her grip on the supporting handle was steady and sure, but had she had less practice, she might have fallen, Thorin thought, watching the scene numbly. “It’s – it’s a letter from the hob-beans. And it might have been a trap, dear.”

There was a moment of silence and then boys started to panic, Dís tried to calm them down, and the noodles were scattered down on the floor by Kíli’s flailing arms. Thorin didn’t call the boys to order as he usually did – he didn’t do anything, actually, still wondering about the letter. _Don’t be afraid_ , said the huge letters, _I am your friend_.

Since a very long time Thorin wished for nothing as hard as he wished now for these words to be true.

*

The noodles and his letter disappeared an hour before dinner – Bilbo couldn’t stop himself from going to and fro and check the hole in the threshold constantly. Despite all his joy, he felt a tinge of disappointment when he found the hole empty – he hoped for a reply, a sign that the Borrowers see and recognise his efforts. But there wasn’t as much as a blade of grass there.

Maybe they were just shy, Bilbo thought, lying awake late in the night. That he could understand; he was never very good at making new friends. Not that in his travels he encountered to make actual friends – people were friendly all right, but to them he was only a sickly hobbit boy and not someone whom they wanted to be close with. It was almost like they feared that they could catch Bilbo’s illness, even though it was not possible, one had to be born with it. Bilbo turned in his bed again, shutting his eyes firmly. It was a bad thought to ponder on at night, he knew, so he tried to imagine Grandpa Took’s field full of sheep in order to count them. His mother always said that it is the best remedy for sleeping troubles, so he focused very hard and the flock of sheep started to jump over an imagined fence one by one, but soon they became Borrowers, running around on the kitchen shelves and jumping over scattered cutlery and other utensils.

That’s it, Bilbo decided, throwing the blanket away and jumping out of his bed. The Borrowers must be in the kitchen, this small bunch of noodles he brought them surely wasn’t enough, if there was a big number of them living in Bag End. He tiptoed to the kitchen, listening closely; there were small rustles and little cracking noises coming from it, and he couldn’t believe his luck. Two days in a row he’d meet the Borrowers –well, borrowing!

Pushing the door open just so-so, Bilbo peeked inside and barely suppressed a shriek. There was someone in the kitchen, and a rather big someone at that. Feeling his heart pounding in his throat, Bilbo went back very slowly, trying not to make a single noise. But the door opened and in the moonlight Bilbo recognised Otho who was munching something with vigour. Bilbo blinked several times, trying to calm down. Without saying a word, Otho took a few cookies from a jar which he was clutching under his arm and gave them to Bilbo with a smile, chewing all the time.

“Thank you,” Bilbo whispered, and received a short nod in return. Then he turned back and went to his room as silently as he came. The cookies joined the rest of the food hidden under his bed, and he curled up in a cocoon of blankets, hoping that his heart would calm itself and stop hurting so.

*

There were curious Borrowers in the world – the ones who did like borrowing, or just roaming around the house, or even wandering outside, into the garden. To say that Thorin wasn’t one of them was an understatement. He had to go out for borrowing – in the recent years he was the only one providing for the Oakenshield household in fact, so he has become rather good – but he never felt the thrill of it, the excitement that Dís and Frerin used to burst with. He knew all too well the fate of an inexpert or careless Borrower, and he couldn’t find any joy in taking the risk.

But well, now he had to. With a deep sigh Thorin moved the cookie which was left at the entrance in the threshold and went out to the garden, shielding his eyes from the sun. Earlier the child hob-bean informed the lady hob-bean that he would read a book under the trees, which meant quite a long trek for Thorin. The mere thought made him shudder; last time he wandered that long outside was when they were moving to the new house. But well, things needed to be sorted out. Tearing through the high grass, Thorin looked around for rodents, snakes, or any other danger, but there wasn’t anything interesting beside tufts of wild sorrel. He might pick some on his way back; both Dís and himself used to be very fond of sorrel soup as kids, and the youngsters could taste it too.

Finally he made it to the hob-bean’s blanket; he climbed up the nearby bush so that the child couldn’t see him, took the crumpled letter out of his backpack and threw on the opened book. The hob-bean startled, opened the paper, and looked around, but Thorin was well hidden among the leaves.

“It’s you – the Tiny Folk!” Hob-bean whispered, and it’s face lit up. Thorin wasn’t an expert in guessing the hob-beans’ age, but this one looked much younger than Kíli. “Where are you? Please show yourself!”

“Is the letter true?” Thorin asked, watching the huge face closely. Reading expression of such huge features wasn’t easy, but it could save a Borrower’s life, and he knew it well. “Do you mean what you wrote there?” he demanded, when the child didn’t answer straightaway.

“I – yes! I am your friend! I will help you, I…”

“If that’s true, then you must leave us alone. Don’t look for us, don’t bring us food – just leave us, do you understand?”

Even if Thorin wasn’t an expert in hob-beans’ facial expression, he could see disappointment, surprise and hurt well enough. The fact that this bean was just a kid made it even worse; there was a reason he never managed to discipline his nephews properly.

“Did I do something wrong? You didn’t like the noodles? I can bring something else if you want – cookies or rice, or a slice of bread…”

“No, please don’t. I understand…” Thorin paused for a moment, and took a long breath. For the millionth time he cursed the fate which made Dís’ mobility limited; she could handle hob-beans much better than he. But then, she would probably present a list of items she wanted the hob-bean to bring her by now, and that would end in a catastrophe, as it always did. “I understand that you want to help. But you must understand too – if the other hob-beans find us, we would have to move out, and we can’t really do this now.” He didn’t want to say the last thing, but it slipped somehow. And besides, it was true – he had no idea how they could change a home, given the circumstances. He would need time to scout out, the boys were hardly any help, and…

“Why would other hobbits make you leave? We like having guests, and you are little and adorable, and – oh. You are afraid that they would keep you in a cage, like hamsters or birds?”

He didn’t reply. Partially because he didn’t need to, and partially because he couldn’t get his voice out. The hob-bean sunk in himself, blinking away tears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put you at risk. I – I’ll leave you be, I promise.”

Thorin couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief, but he didn’t feel accomplished. Actually, he felt rather nasty – the child was very successful in holding back tears, but anyone could see that he was miserable all right. But well, it had to be done. They couldn’t risk being found out, no matter what cost.

“There is some food under my bed, in the room with the blue door. You can take it if you want – I won’t look, even if I hear you.” Hob-bean even tried to smile in Thorin’s general direction, and Thorin couldn’t but admire it a bit. Maybe Dís was right saying that one could benefit from contact with hob-beans. “And you better take it before cousin Lobelia finds the stash. I am your friend, you see, so I will protect you.”

“Thank you, hob-bean,” Thorin said and bowed his head. It seemed right, even if the hob-bean wouldn’t see it. “You are true friend of us.”

The child smiled wider, nodded, and turned back to his book. Thorin waited a bit, making sure that he wouldn’t look back, and started to climb down the bush.

“My name is Bilbo,” said the hob-bean suddenly, and Thorin didn’t fall from the bush only thank to years of training. “Would you tell me yours?”

“Thorin.”

Again, he said something which he didn’t want to. He got out of habit – years and years of speaking to his sister and nephews only made him drop his guard entirely.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Thorin,” Bilbo the hob-bean said in a creaking voice. Thorin resumed his walk down, pretending not to hear the small, muffled sobs.

*

Thorin knew well that Fíli’s and Kíli’s childhood was far from ideal, and that maybe he was not the best role model they needed. But still, he did everything he could to bring them up well, and Dís did even more. And yet sometimes all he wanted to do was to cover his eyes and weep bitter tears.

“Look Fee, there are three different cookies waiting! It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen!”

“I’m not going to eat anything else for a week!”

Maybe they were too lenient, or too eager to shield Kíli and Fíli from dangers of the hob-beans’ world – either way, as a result, despite their efforts, the boys had no idea about the proper ways of Borrowers. They were careless, they were unfocused, they were _loud_.

“Fíli! Kíli! For Maker’s sake, the hob-bean will wake up and see you!” he hissed as loud as he could bring himself to.

“No, I won’t,” the voice from the bed answered, and Thorin almost fell from the shelf where he was installing a small pulley to drag Bilbo’s offerings up. Thank Mahal for his well-trained reflexes, or he’d lose the sad remains of his dignity. “I don’t see you, you’re just a dream.”

Thorin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, but before he could react in any way, Kíli protested from under the bed:

“No, we’re not! We’re as real as you, hob-bean, thank you very much!”

“Kee, you’re not supposed to talk to hob-beans, silly!” In Thorin’s mortified brain it sounded responsible, and for a moment he hoped that Fíli would somehow save the day. But it was only a fool’s hope. “And besides, he’s right, you huge thing! We’re not a dream!”

“I’ve just imagined you,” Bilbo insisted, and Thorin dared to peek in his direction. The little hob-bean’s eyes were squeezed shut and his fist were balled in fists on the cover. It was plain to see that he didn’t look only due to his sheer power of will. “I don’t see you, I don’t hear you. But if you won’t keep a bit quieter, my cousin Lobelia may,” Bilbo added, and this finally made Fíli and Kíli quiet for a while.

Only then Thorin paid attention to the small rustles and creaks which came from the master bedroom, as if someone tossed in their sleep or even woke up. If the hob-bean lady would wake up and come here, they would be lost – the boys were easy to spot, and with their hands on the food at that. He took a deep breath and tugged at the rope of the makeshift lift he installed for the loot.

“Boys! Jump in, I’ll help you up!”

“It won’t hold us and the food,” Fíli protested. The rope moved slightly – the boys now took seriously to loading the goods on the lift. “Take it first.”

“There’s no time,” Thorin all but yelled. “Grab the rope, you fools!”

They must have heard the utter panic in his voice, because there was a series of tugs at the rope. The pulley creaked, and Fíli declared them both ready for the ride. Thorin pulled with all his might, but the rope moved only so slightly. He pulled again, and couldn’t suppress a not very dignified groan.

“Wait, let me help,” Bilbo whispered after a few seconds during which Thorin’s breath shortened and his muscles started to burn. “I’ll bring you up!” The bed creaked, and Thorin could feel a looming presence over him.

“Don’t!” he hissed through his gritted teeth. “You promised!”

Bilbo gasped and froze, and to Thorin’s utter horror the bedroom door creaked and the hob-bean lady stormed in. Clutching the rope in his burning shivering hands, Thorin closed his eyes, expecting a scream. His nephews were dangling in a lift mid-air, and he himself was exposed like a decoration on the shelf. He wondered briefly what Dís would do now, but the scream still didn’t come.

“Bilbo dear!” gasped the lady at last. “Have you had a nightmare? I’ve heard some noises.”

“Yes, I – uh – I dreamed about… Nevermind,” said Bilbo in small voice. Thorin noticed that he didn’t move, and only then he realized that he was blocking the view of the hob-bean lady – and still kept his eyes shut. “It wasn’t a good dream.”

“You poor thing! I’ll bring you some warm milk with honey, it will help you like nothing else, I promise.”

“And cookies? Or the almond scones…?” Bilbo said hopefully. The hob-bean lady muttered something that the almond scones might have run out, but she promised to look for them as she left the room. Bilbo sighed shakily, as if he were to cry again, but when he spoke, his tone was urging rather than sad. “Now you go and hide. You can wait her out in the small chest up here, no one will see you.” At that he leaned forward, retrieved the food from under the bed and placed it on the shelf above his head. “I hope that you will go home safely.”

Thorin didn’t remember much after that moment – only that he pulled and pulled, and pulled, and his palms burned from the weight. Then there was Fíli tugging him towards a hideout just seconds before the hob-bean lady burst into the room again, all apologies and concerned cooing. They sat there, all three of them, tucked safely between the chest and some leather-bound books, and Thorin processed slowly all the things which just happened, and the memories they brought with themselves.

“I could have lost you down here,” he whispered finally, barely audible over the bedtime story which the hob-bean lady was screeching in Bilbo’s ear. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by this realisation, when he felt a short squeeze on his arm.

“But you didn’t, did you,” Kíli said with the broad smile which looked exactly like Frerin’s, and Thorin couldn’t say anything more.

*

Bilbo was sad - there was nothing more to it. The Borrowers didn't trust him, they didn't like him, and even if he understood that they are afraid, he felt offended. He never did anything against them, did he - no, he helped them, he brought them food, he shielded them from Lobelia, and still they didn't trust him. It was unfair.

The sun was scorching the back of his neck and he reached to tug the scarf to cover it when something hit him in the face. It was something small and long, tightly wrapped in a scrap of paper. Bilbo sat up, opened it with shivering hands and found a pin with red head; when he squinted, he saw intricate geometric pattern carved in the head. He blinked several times, and only then looked at the paper. _TANK YU_ , it said in tiny letters written in shaky, untrained hand.

"Thank you too," Bilbo whispered, his eyes fixed on the little treasures.

"You're welcome," a tiny voice piped from the ground. It wasn't Thorin, what Bilbo secretly hoped for, but one of the other two Borrowers - Fill and Kill, or whatever their names were. He squinted and saw one of them behind a stone. "Do you like it?"

"Very much, it's lovely and sharp. But - I think you shouldn't be there," Bilbo added bravely. "And I shouldn't talk to you, I promised."

“Don’t you worry,” said another voice, sounding very smug. “We promised not to talk to hob-beans too. But you’re very small, so you hardly even count.”

His first reaction was an offended huff, but then Bilbo thought better. He tucked the pin and the letter in his pocket and moved oh-so-slightly towards the stone where the Borrowers hid.

“Well, in this case we should introduce ourselves properly,” he said, remembering his father’s lectures on good manners. “My name is Bilbo Baggins and I am pleased to meet you, my friends.”

“It’s Fíli…”

“And Kíli – at your service!” They finished in unison, and after a moment of grunting and huffing two silhouettes appeared on the stone. Now finally Bilbo had a chance to look closer - the glimpses in the dark didn’t gave him much idea on how the Borrowers looked like.

Well, apparently they looked almost like hobbits, but smaller. They had long hair, which for some reason covered their cheeks and chins too, and they wore trousers and jackets and shirts just like Bilbo did, and – oh my, they wore boots too, like elves, but sturdier. All in all, they were cute, Bilbo decided and said so aloud.

“Cute you say? Uh, I think if someone is as huge as you are, it’s really hard to be attractive,” one of them – Kíli, if Bilbo recognised the voice well – said in a smug tone. Bilbo laughed, because he was always considered very small for a hobbit; it was fun to be the big one for a change. “And it must be difficult to do anything with such enormous hands, they look so funny when they move – Fee, why are you poking me!?”

“Don’t mind him,” Fíli said to Bilbo with a shrug, avoiding Kíli’s murderous hands, “he is just daft, and these are his first days on borrowing. He didn’t mean anything wrong.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Bilbo agreed, as he found Kíli’s remarks rather amusing. “But I’m thinking, what are you doing here, in the lawn? I talked to a Borrower named Thorin and he insisted that you must be kept a secret. So I haven’t told anyone, but you know, my cousin Lobelia can come here any minute and see you.”

“Oh, she won’t, we’re way too clever!” Kíli announced, waggled his tiny brows and suddenly disappeared behind the stone. A small thump a second later gave away his not so gracious fall though.

“You helped us last night.” Unmoved by his brother’s antics, Fíli sat on his heels, stroking the braids he had under his nose pensively. It was the first time Bilbo saw anyone who would have hairs in any other place than their feet and top of their head – he’d have to ask mother about it someday. “We shouldn’t come here, sure, but we wanted to thank you. And, you know,” he said after a heartbeat, and there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes, just like in Kíli’s, “we wanted to see a hob-bean close in daylight. It is an adventure, and Kee and I always wanted one.”

“An adventure, you say? My mother is very fond of adventures,” Bilbo admitted with a smile, thinking of Belladonna stories. She once met a wizard named Gandalf and he showed her the joys of wandering through the woods, camping with high fires, and he introduced her to the mysterious ways of the elves.

“Ours too,” Kíli said once he climbed the stone again. He combed his hair with his fingers and adjusted his jacket, pretending that nothing unplanned happened here. “Maybe it’s just like mums are. She wandered to the nursery in the Old Home once, when she was still a young lass, and borrowed something from each of the children sleeping there,” he said with pride in his voice. “One little hob-bean woke up, but mum sang her to sleep. She is very brave, our mum.”

“Yeah, I bet she is. One must be brave to go to an adventure – I could never make it, but you lot seem to be adventurers all right. What would you like to do?”

“Something wild!” Kíli exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

“Something extraordinary,” Fíli said at the same time.

Bilbo frowned, because he could not think of anything wild a hobbit village had to offer, but then he felt a seizure coming. It started as it usually did – he suddenly felt weak, his palms started sweating, and the world was all but spinning around him with his slightest move.

“I’ll – I’ll think of something,” he blurted out, blinking quickly and trying to focus on the Borrowers. He didn’t want them to see him in this state – he knew all too well what would follow. They would pity him, become afraid of him, and he would lose friends even before he truly gained them. “But now you must go home, because…” He took a deep breath, and the dizziness got worse. The usual ache in his chest appeared, piercing as always, and the normalcy of the seizure was absurdly comforting. “Because my cousin Lobelia will come here… any moment. But let’s meet tomorrow. Let’s… let’s see each other soon.”

“We’ll come then. But are you all right, Bilbo?”

“Yes,” he lied, and the surge of shame made him feel even worse for that. “But go quickly now. Be safe.”

He heard a soft patter of tiny feet, and soon he was all alone. He curled up, shut his eyes, and waited the ache to cease. Eventually it would – Bilbo knew, because it always did – but this time waiting was slightly less painful.

*

The next day they waited for him. Bilbo couldn’t believe it, but they actually did. He was afraid that after Lobelia found him yesterday, all curled up and tense with pain, she would never let him out of her sight again. He did everything she wanted – drank gallons of warm milk and some absolutely disgusting herbal tea “for cleaning the blood out of sickness, Bilbo dear”, pretended sleeping after breakfast “for regeneration” and ate three servings of the second breakfast to gain strength. He promised not to stay in the sun, or to read too much, or exert himself in any way, but Lobelia still wasn’t convinced. Luckily she remembered that she had some things to prepare for his surprise welcome home party, and finally let him go. Bilbo didn’t run to the meeting place – he promised not to, and besides he didn’t feel very well still – but he walked as quickly as he could, acutely aware that this is past the time of his meeting with the Borrowers yesterday.

But they were here, hidden amidst the foliage; they were picking small, pale green leaves and placing them in a basket weaved from a cord.

“Apology accepted,” they said in unison even before Bilbo uttered a word. Bilbo huffed, unsure what to do, abut then Kíli climbed up the stone and gave him a small leaf. “It’s wild sorrel, very good for a soup. Do you hob-beans like it too?”

“I don’t know.” The leaf didn’t have any distinctive smell; Bilbo bit it and felt a strong sour taste. “I think I’ve never eaten it,” he admitted, making a face.

“Well then, you should,” Fíli said, joining them. The basket strapped to his shoulders was full of the sorrel leaves, and some other plants Bilbo did not recognise. “It’s very healthy food, mum says, and kids should eat it aplenty or they get ill.”

“I’m not a kid! I am twenty-one, thank you very much!” To Bilbo’s shock and dismay, his offended exclamation made Fíli and Kíli laugh aloud, which was not very nice, because he was almost a grown-up, wasn’t he. “And besides, I’ve eaten my fair share of healthy foods today.”

“Any leftovers?” Fíli asked, wiping his eyes and straightening. Kíli was giggling still, but the mention of food made him vigilant too. “Something we could borrow in the evening? I would love something freshly cooked…”

“Yeah, and now we’re doomed to pasta with preserves and sweet bread all the time until you leave!”

“Shut up, Kee! Don’t listen to him,” Fíli tried, but the harm was already done. Bilbo fixed his gaze in his feet and twisted his hands, dabbed by guilt again; he should not talk with them, he _promised_. “It’s just that uncle Thorin is a bit… Well, he doesn’t like hob-beans very much, because… Because you are so huge, and… and he is always afraid of being discovered, you know? It’s nothing to do with you, I promise!”

“But he’s right, I should not talk to you. It’s dangerous,” Bilbo said, blinking away tears. It was so wonderful to have someone who wanted to talk to him, to have a tiny _good_ secret which wasn’t about his heart or his illness. “You could be discovered, and – and – and I don’t know, but Thorin said it’s very bad!”

Fíli, who was mercilessly punching Kíli and smacking his head, shrugged and smiled.

“But you are here to help us, aren’t you, Bilbo? With a hob-bean friend like you we’re safe.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about uncle Thorin.” Kíli flashed a wide smile, pretending that nothing did happen here, and Bilbo couldn’t but laugh. He wasn’t always nice, but then he _was_ , and Bilbo liked him just as much as Fíli. “He’s just paranoid. So what’s there to eat?”

Looking at the kitchen window, Bilbo considered his options. He could put something away for the Borrowers and help them take it in the night, but he could meet Otho again, or worse – wake Lobelia up. In the latter case, he’d be doomed to stay in bed and drink herbal teas until his heart or boredom kill him. The other option was to grab the food now, when Otho was in the workshop in the backyard and Lobelia was sewing garlands for his surprise welcome–home party in the drawing room. She was probably singing, so even if he decided to organise a horseshoe-throwing contest in the kitchen she wouldn’t really notice.

“Have you ever visited a hob-beans’ kitchen in the daylight?” Bilbo asked, clambering up to his feet. He couldn’t suppress a wide grin which made his cheeks almost hurt. Fíli and Kíli shook their heads, observing him with curiosity and anticipation. “Well, then I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

*

“I thought we had a deal.”

The little hob-bean – Bilbo, Thorin reminded himself – startled and dropped the book he was reading. He looked around, searching for the source of the voice, but Thorin kept to the shadows.

“Thorin, it’s you, isn’t it?” He didn’t reply, but it seemed that Bilbo was too moved to mind. “I’m so happy that you came! Did you like the dinner?”

“I thought we had a deal – you promised to keep away, didn’t you?” he said instead of acknowledging the warm welcome. His anger got better of him, he knew, and he’d better stick to the speech he prepared. “I thought I could trust you and what do you do? You take my nephews into a hob-beans’ kitchen _in broad daylight_! Do you have any idea what could have happened, kid?!”

“No, I don’t. I’ve asked Fíli and Kíli, but they don’t know either,” Bilbo whispered fiercely. He propped himself up and only then Thorin could see the dark circles under his eyes – very disturbing on such small a kid if anyone asked him. “They came to me themselves, and told me that it’s not very dangerous for you to talk with us hobbits, and that their mum befriended…”

“Oh, of course, their mum!” Thorin all but shouted. It didn’t go in the direction he planned, but it didn’t make him any less angry. “Yes, she befriended hob-beans indeed, she talked to them a mile a minute, she brought home thousands of fancy things. And you know what happened then? We were discovered by the other beans. They hunted us down, like rats. We had to run away from our home and start everything anew.” The kid didn’t deserve his bitterness, but he really didn’t care. Hearing Fíli and Kíli today, boasting about their journey around the hob-beans’ kitchen, broke something in him. “And my friendly sister became a cripple in the process. Do you understand now? Will you leave us alone?”

But Bilbo apparently stopped listening – he bit his lip and frowned, caught in a thought. Thorin swore under his breath, considering any further explanations to be below his dignity, when the boy turned to the shelf where he was hiding and looked almost directly at him. There was a sorrow in his eyes which any child shouldn’t know or feel, and it shook Thorin out of his rage.

“She’s a cripple – so you mean, she cannot walk?” Bilbo asked in a voice barely audible even for a Borrower’s trained ear. “She’s – she’s trapped in there, between the kitchen wall and the clock, where you live? Forever?”

It wasn’t what Thorin expected at all.

“She’s not trapped, and she can walk, she just – cannot jump and climb, she can’t go borrowing. She must stay in our home, yes.”

Bilbo sunk in himself visibly, and started to worry on his lower lip. Something twisted in Thorin’s gut at the sight; he really wasn’t good at speaking with children.

“But Kíli and Fíli – they told me that she loves adventures,” he said finally. “That she loves the outdoors, and knows all herbs and plants, and is the friendliest person ever. How can she stand being in there all the time?”

“We Borrowers aren’t outdoor types really, and she – you get used to it, you know.” Speaking of it was very hard, harder than Thorin wanted to admit. Somehow this little hob-bean who had never met his sister described her just perfectly, and recognised her wants and desires which she never spoke of. It was deeply disturbing, and Thorin couldn’t but watch Bilbo closer. The boy looked so sickly that Thorin would order him to drink a gallon of herbal tea and sleep for two days in a row if he didn’t feel so stupid.

“But would she – would she like to get out for a bit? Just to the garden? Do you think I could – what is your sister’s name, anyway?”

“Dís. And really, Bilbo-“

“You remember my name! That’s nice of you!” The kid smiled, and Thorin smiled too. There was something charming in this little hob-bean, he could give him that. “Please, go ask missus Dís if she would go with me. _Please_. I will be careful.” Bilbo straightened up with a gleam in his eye. He looked as if he was ready to go for an adventure with Dís right this minute. “We’ll just go to the garden, and no one will see us. I promise.”

Thorin should said no – it was just the common sense, no rationally thinking Borrower should agree to that – but he couldn’t. Not only because of Bilbo, who was so eager and happy now, like a child should be, but because of Dís. She would love to go to the garden, to enjoy the outdoors even for a brief moment. She never talked about it, but she missed it so, so much.

“Why do you do this?” He asked, even though he didn’t mean to speak aloud. This question bothered him though, and he really wanted to understand. “Why are you so determined to help us?”

“My mother told me stories about you, about the Tiny Folk,” Bilbo whispered after a long while, smiling again. “So I feel like you are my friends even though I’ve just met you. And besides…” There was a long pause again; Bilbo’s smile dropped, but then he looked up again, determination all over his face. “I want to do something good, you know? To make someone happy, just one person, before I go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Thorin said with a note of utter terror to his voice, because now he understood – probably more than Bilbo wanted.

“Yes, I am. And nothing can be done, see? So I just want…”

The bedroom door creaked and the sound almost gave Thorin a heart attack. He moved backwards, stumbled a little and hit the wall, but luckily the darkness hid his disgrace. This was not the lady hob-bean this time, but her husband, the quiet clumsy type who always left a nice bunch of metal leftovers, wood chips, pieces of string, and other useful materials in the workshop. He must have heard Bilbo talking with Thorin, but he didn’t question it, just brought a glass of warm milk and several cookies and have them to Bilbo with an encouraging nod.

It was somewhat soothing to see that the kid was under good care, but Thorin went home with heavy heart nevertheless. Bilbo couldn’t mean what he said, he just _couldn’t_. He must have meant that he’d leave this house, and he wanted to become friends of the Borrowers before that. He _must_ have meant that.

“How did it go?” Dís asked as soon as he entered. She must have seen the look on his face only then, because she gasped and moved her chair towards him. “What happened? Is anything wrong? Thorin?”

“Do you-” he cut off, unable to formulate the question. _Do you know that the little hob-bean who desperately wants to be our friends says that he is going to die?_ “Do you want to go to the garden some day? Bilbo said he could take you.”

*

“Otho, do you have some slats?”

Otho turned back from the workbench and looked at Bilbo curiously. He gestured to the various boxes and containers on the shelf just above him, humming questioningly.

“You know, just some scraps of wood, maybe a box without a lid, but it needs to be sturdy. I’d like to build something – you know, some pieces of furniture, for playing…?”

Scratching the back of his head, Otho went out to the adjacent room, muttering something under his nose. Bilbo took this time to look around – he didn’t visit the workshop before, because Lobelia deemed it too dangerous for him. It was a spacious room with big windows letting a lot of light in. On the shelves – some of which had carved ornaments which Bilbo already recognized as his father’s work – were numbers of boxes and jars with some nails and bolts, pieces of woodwork, and some objects he didn’t recognise, all neat and in order. On the floor though there were piles of junk – wood chips and small pieces, lumps of dried off glue and thin pieces of wire. It looked like the workshop was used by two different hobbits – one working up by the ceiling and the other keeping to the floor. Bilbo smiled up at Otho who just came back, bringing a large crate. With a wide grin he put in on the table, opened and took something out, huffing at the straws stuffed in the box for protection.

It was a house – a burrow, rather – huge and beautiful, with round green door and tiny windows with delicate curtains from white lace. It had shiny polished walls, shutters and sills from fair wood, and the stairs carved in the scraps of mahogany looked just like the ones in Bag End. A Borrower, or even a group of them, could live in it comfortably enough.

“Is it – is it Bag End?”

Otho nodded solemnly and patted the stern where Bungo’s initials were carved. He reached to the box and took out a bunch of papers which turned out to be plans – plans of the _real_ Bag End. So it was the engagement gift Bungo gave Belladonna – the project of the dream house he wanted to build for her.

“And – you think I can take it? Can I – use it how I want to?” Bilbo didn’t say _play_ , because that wasn’t his intention and he didn’t want to lie unless absolutely necessary. Especially he loathed the thought of lying to Otho, who was nothing but good to him in his quiet way.

With another nod and a broad smile, Otho cleaned the house from the remaining straws and pieces, and gave it to Bilbo. It was warm and very heavy, and smelled of wood and resin. It reminded Bilbo about his father somehow, but it must have been an old memory; in Rivendell father just smelt like herbs and clean sheets.

“Thank you!” Otho shook his head, but Bilbo smiled at him. “Thank you for keeping it for me.”

Otho put some pieces of wood and fabric, string and glue on the side table, and laid down some well-worn tools beside. He helped Bilbo to place the small Bag End on the shelf he cleaned from bits and pieces, and opened the doors and windows so they could peek inside the house. There was no furniture, but the walls were painted and the windows glazed. Then Otho gestured to his own workbench, where he was working on a chair; it wasn’t as ornate as the ones Bungo carved so meticulously, but it looked sturdy and yet fair. There were some drawings and calculations pinned to the wall, and Otho handed them to Bilbo who nodded and started to study them closely. It was exactly what he thought of – chairs. A chair for Dís was necessary if she was to visit the gardens, she had to have a place to rest. But, well, building some other useful things would not go amiss though.

The plan went smoother that Bilbo ever expected. The idea of Dís out to the garden was just the beginning of a huge brainstorm of ideas he experienced last night. He was lying in his bed and thinking on his time in Rivendell, of its wide halls and well-lit rooms. They were not only beautiful and close to nature, but they were comfortable – or they were _made_ comfortable for him, a small hobbit in need of assistance. He didn’t understand it well then, but now, in the middle of the night, he realised it with clarity. Now the story of Dís reminded him about this; and he decided that now, when Thorin ceased his protests, he should not only help Dís fulfil her dream of an adventure, but also make the Borrowers’ life as easy as he could.

It was not easy for him though; he had no experience with tools or wood, and Otho didn’t give him anything sharp or heavy. The chair on the picture looked easy enough, but despite his best efforts Bilbo couldn’t make anything even remotely similar.

“Otho, love, haven’t you seen… Bilbo, what are you doing here? I told you, the workshop is _dangerous_!”

Bilbo froze with his tongue between his teeth and his fingers tangled in an attempt to glue the seat to the legs of the chair. Lobelia’s head, decorated in number of cherry-red bows, appeared in the door and gave him a stern look.

“And you, dear, are you mad!? You gave him tools, he can hurt himself!”

Otho huffed and pointed to Bilbo’s table, where were no actual tools beside glue and wire. Lobelia, with her cheeks puffed, inspected the workplace, checked the number of Bilbo’s fingers and finally gave her approval with a small bow of her head.

“I don’t like it, but well, it’s raining outside… But promise me to be careful, love, you _must_ promise me. I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt!”

Bilbo promised, then promised again as Lobelia didn’t seem convinced. Only then, a bit relieved, she asked Otho to help her with arranging the piles to hang the garlands for the surprise welcome-home party and to put up the rain-proof tent. He agreed and wanted to go out, but she blocked the entrance, still giving Bilbo safety instructions.

“But you won’t touch anything on Otho’s table, Bilbo, and you won’t even look at the saw…” She instructed him, even though Otho was dragging her out, muttering something under his nose that he had work to do and didn’t have the whole day.

With a deep sigh Bilbo turned to his table and looked at the miserable attempt of a chair. He bowed to study the drawing once again when he heard a small sound in the corner of the table.

“Good day,” he heard, and when he looked up he couldn’t believe his eyes. There, in the plain sight and in the broad daylight, stood Thorin, giving Bilbo a deep frown. “I thought that I won’t find you alone today.”

Bilbo blinked several times, trying to learn Thorin’s face. He was the first Borrower he spoke to, his first friend – but Bilbo had no clue so far how he looked like. His dark hair with grey streaks growing on his chin too, the furrowed brows, and the slightly hunched back made him look sad, and Bilbo didn’t like it. The resolution to do something good for the Borrowers – for Thorin, too – strengthened in him even more.

“It’s raining, so I couldn’t go outside,” he explained, “so I wanted, uh…” Only the he realised that Thorin wasn’t looking at him, but rather at the ‘chair’ Bilbo was working on. He tried to cover it with his hands, but Thorin walked through the table to inspect the work more closely. “I just wanted to… build something… oh, don’t look at it, it’s not ready, it’s…”

“It could use some help,” Thorin agreed, and tore the misplaced chair leg apart from the seat and positioned it again. The glue was still soft, like a jelly. “Press here, it will stick better.”

For a moment they didn’t speak much, just worked together, gluing the legs to the seat. Bilbo felt a little surreal, working hand in hand with Thorin – and judging from the glances Thorin shot him, he wasn’t alone in his feeling. Finally, the chair stood on four legs and needed only a back and a cushion, and Bilbo had no idea what to do with his sticky fingers. Thorin, suddenly embarrassed too, coughed lightly and looked up sideways.

“I wanted to tell you that Dís would love to visit the garden with you, if you still want to,” he said finally. “Fíli and Kíli would be happy to accompany you too.”

“And you?”

Thorin shifted uncomfortably on his feet, sighed, and finally nodded.

“I am not very outdoors-y, you know,” he said gruffly. “But I can’t leave them unattended, they might be a – a bother.”

“No, I mean – what do you want? I’d like to give you something too.” Bilbo hated how his voice trembled, but he decided that he won’t let the emotions get over him. Here he had Thorin who came to talk to him during the day, he could not show a s a cry-baby now.

“I don’t want anything. No, Bilbo, listen…” Thorin took a deep breath, then another one, and Bilbo realised that he is trying to calm himself down. He run a hand through his hair, which was a stupid idea, because it stuck there for a moment, but it gave Thorin time. “I think I understand, and it’s a good and noble thing to do, but I don’t want a farewell gift from you.” Thorin looked up, straight in Bilbo’s eyes, and there was such determination and low-burning anger in him that Bilbo could not suppress a shiver. “I want you to fight.”

“It’s hard to fight your own heart,” Bilbo whispered, blinking rapidly. “I – I tried, but there isn’t a cure, there can’t be, I know it. I – I just wanted to have a friend, you see? Someone who’d like me, and not pity me, and I hoped – but now just you pity me too.”

All his efforts to put a good face were to nothing; tears were just falling down his face and he could not really stop them. For a while he wondered that Thorin did not have an umbrella to shield himself from this sudden downpour, and the though made him snort. Not very good impression indeed.

“I’m not _pitying_ you,” Thorin hissed, his anger clearly getting better of him. “I’m telling you to fight. You can’t just…!”

“Bilbo, love! Are you… Oh dear, what have you done to yourself!? Did you cut off your finger!?”

Before Bilbo turned back, he heard Thorin’s whispered promise that they would continue this conversation later on, but he could not focus on that, not when Lobelia was hovering over him, screeching with concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You won’t get your attack again, Bilbo, will you? Come here, drink some herbal tea…”

He let her lead him out of the workshop, still in tears, too touched to respond to Lobelia’s cooing. This was his one chance to have a friend, a someone to care for, and now it all was lost.

*

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to think about all that. Thorin came to talk to him on his own accord, and in the light of day, but then he did not appear again – not in the night, and not in the morning either. For a terrifying second Bilbo wondered if he did as he told was the Borrowers’ way, just took his family, left the big house and wandered away to find a new home, but he reasoned with himself that it couldn’t be true. Dís couldn’t escape, Thorin said so himself, and Thorin – he would not leave Bilbo without a goodbye, would he?

With a heavy heart he went out to the garden and laid under the honeysuckle bush, wondering what to do. He probably should not look for the Borrowers or contact them on his own, especially since Lobelia was in the frenzy of last preparations for the surprise welcome-home party scheduled for today, but he had to make sure that they didn’t leave him. And also, he had a promise to keep.

It wasn’t easy to find the Borrowers though – he couldn’t just spend the whole day whispering their names to the hole in the threshold, after all. He sulked around the house, knocking in the walls and calling the Borrowers in quiet voice, but they were not appearing, and Lobelia started to ask him questions, so he had to move back to his safe space under the honeysuckle bush. He threw himself on the blanket with a sigh, and the blanked squeaked in response.

“Bilbo! You’ve almost crushed us!”

Fíli and Kíli, with their hair ruffled and their outfits crumpled, looked at him with reproach in their eyes, but they were unhurt.

“We’re looking for you for the whole day,” Kíli moaned, straightening his jacket. “Today’s weather is good, so we thought…”

“…that we will find you there, and maybe our mum could also join…”

“…because uncle Thorin said that you promised to take her with you one day…”

“…which is totally cool!” they finished in unison, which was a relief, because Bilbo’s head just snapped left and right to follow the conversation.

“Uh, sure, I’d love to take her with me, I even looked for you guys – but how do I do that?”

“It would be best to use the kitchen door,” Fíli said, and Kíli nodded with a wide grin. “Because mum wouldn’t have to change floors. I just don’t know how you’re going to take her from there…”

“I’ll think of something,” Bilbo said, and without any warning scooped the Borrowers and put them in his pocket. There was some seething and some grumbling, which was very tickly, but then Kíli and Fíli just peeked out of his pocket and admired the view.

“You can’t do it with mum though,” Fíli said, when they entered the kitchen. “Her legs wouldn’t take it well, and besides, uncle Thorin would get a heart attack.”

“I’ll think of something,” Bilbo repeated, looking around. Luckily Lobelia just marched out of the kitchen, ordering Otho to carry a set of spare chairs to the lawn behind the house. It meant that they had a few minutes before Lobelia makes Otho arrange the chairs in a perfect way and come back for more. “Where now?” Bilbo hissed, and Kíli pointed in the general direction of the shelf on which he saw borrowers for the first time. It took some acrobatics, but he managed to place the Borrowers there without breaking their limbs and compromising their dignity, and promised to look for a “carriage” (as Fíli put it) for the journey back when they disappeared in an almost-invisible hole in the wall.

He found something suitable – a baking pan, to be precise – and sat under the shelf, listening intently. He could hear some indistinct noises, but wasn’t sure whether it was Lobelia ordering Otho around, the garden tables creaking under the abundance of food, or the Borrowers coming. Suddenly someone called his name and Bilbo jumped, raising the pan protectively.

“Hey, it’s just us! Do you have something – oh wow, is it a pot? It’s _huge_ and smells of apples!”

“It’s a baking pan,” Bilbo explained, moving the thing up so the Borrowers could jump in. His grip wasn’t too sure, but luckily they managed somehow. “Are you all ready for the trip?”

“Yes!” exclaimed three thrilled voices. Bilbo peeked inside the pan for the first time and saw Fíli and Kíli flanking a lady dressed in a knitted tunic, sitting on the floor of the pan. Thorin was there too, and he wasn’t particularly cheery, but rather pale and sick on the face. “Can we go now?”

Bilbo nodded and hurried away from the kitchen as quietly as he could, because he could hear Lobelia approaching, complaining to Otho a mile a minute. He waited them out in a nook in the hall, and when they disappeared with more food again, he went out to the front garden and placed the pan with the Borrowers on his blanket, very steadily this time.

“How are you there?” he asked, looking inside. Kíli and Fíli giggled like madmen, and Dís laughed along, holding her head. Only Thorin didn’t laugh – he looked more green and sick than he did before though. “Can I – uh – can I take you out?”

There were more giggles, but in conclusion Bilbo just took the Borrowers from the pan one by one and placed them carefully on the blanket. Fíli and Kíli looked mildly offended, Thorin pretended not to see him, but Dís actually smiled at him and squinted her eyes.

“Thank you, Bilbo. I am Dís, and I am pleased to meet you at last.”

He nodded politely and suddenly felt very embarrassed; it meant that Fíli and Kíli must have talked a lot about him, and maybe Thorin did too? Maybe he forgot to mention the failure with the chair…?

“So – what would you like to do here, Dís? I mean – should I get you somewhere, or…”

“No, no, it’s fine, I just want to sit on the grass and see the sun for a moment.” With visible effort, and with help of still silent Thorin, she pushed herself up to her feet and walked very slowly, limping, to the edge of the blanket. With fond smile she touched the grass blades and the low-hanging leaves of the honeysuckle, and finally settled herself on a sun-warmed stone. “It’s much less steady than I remember, the ground I mean, but it’s so nice…” She inhaled deeply and smiled at Bilbo, keeping her eyes shut from the sun. “When I was young and able, I would run here like an ant, and gather millions and millions of things, mostly unnecessary. Ask Thorin and he’ll tell you, I had the biggest collection of stones you’ve ever seen.”

“Stones?” Bilbo and Kíli repeated; apparently, it was an unknown site to Dís.

“Yes, and all were striped, mind you,” Thorin muttered, rolling his eyes. The green hue was slowly disappearing from his face, but he still looked around vigilantly all the time.

“Do they bring luck or something?” Fíli asked, clearly confused. “You know, like amulets of sorts?”

Dís shook her head and laughed loudly. Bilbo observed her, trying to be discreet, but she seemed so happy about all this. When he heard Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli talking about a Borrower locked in between the walls who could not walk or jump or climb, he’d imagined a rather miserable and depressed creature.

“No, but they are pretty. If you find one, you’ll know what I mean.”

“I’ll find you one, mum!” Kíli promised, and tugged Fíli by the sleeve. The other muttered something about finding more useful objects like food, but Kíli was already set off to his quest and Fíli could only follow. The grass, untrimmed in this part of the garden, soon covered them totally.

Dís watched them for a moment with a fond smile, but then closed her eyes again to enjoy the sun on her face. Bilbo couldn’t but smile too. Suddenly he felt very at home, like he found a place where he belonged; only after a few heartbeats he realised that Dís was humming something quietly and that he recognised the song.

“It’s – it’s the song about wandering down the willow gardens, isn’t it? I mean – my mother sings it sometimes…” he trailed off, seeing the questioning look from Dís and Thorin. “Or – is it something else?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly after a short pause. “I remember only the tune, the hob-bean girls of the Old Home sung it sometimes evenings, when I went out to the garden. Do you know the lyrics?”

“I can look for them, I think. They can be somewhere in my mother’s notebooks.”

Dís nodded and resumed her humming, now smiling even wider. Even Thorin seemed slightly relaxed now; he clearly listened more to the distant sounds of Fíli and Kíli roaming in the grass than to the song, but he appeared calmer. All this – the calm, the smile, the song – seemed off to Bilbo. It was not what he expected.

“Are you are you happy?” He asked, when Dís finished, and she looked at him with mild confusion. “I mean –” Well, the problem was that Bilbo wasn’t sure what he meant. He expected Dís to be sadder, but he couldn’t quite say that. “Are you happy here?”

“I am, I promise you. You see…” she trailed off, and looked far away to the garden again. “It must be very different for you that it is for me, but I think that you can be happy if you want.”

“I do,” Bilbo whispered, and smiled at her and Thorin. With them, he was content, and he wasn’t as afraid as any other time, but it was still there. “I just – it’s hard, you know? And I’m afraid, ” he added after a while, very quietly. He said it aloud only once, to his mother, and then regretted it deeply because she cried for the whole night; she pretended to be soundly asleep but the tears were just falling. Yet he could tell it to Dís somehow, and she understood.

“But you are brave, Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted as gruffly as if Bilbo had offended him. He didn’t look at Bilbo or at Dís, but watched the grass pensively with a deep frown. “You are the bravest little hob-bean. And you have the courage to be happy, I know that.”

“You do, I promise,” Dís said with a smile, and reached towards him; Bilbo handed her his pinkie and she grasped it firmly. “We will help you, friend.”

Bilbo wanted to thank them, to say something, but he was too moved to utter a word. They would help him – his friends – he was a friend to them. He just smiled, and before he could react in a more appropriate way, Fíli and Kíli returned with their arms full of treasures: a feather, a bunch of flowers and herbs, a snail’s shell, and even a stripped stone. Bilbo couldn’t but smile at their proud exhibition, and even though he didn’t feel brave or courageous now, he actually felt happy.

*

“Will you tell me what is going on?”

“Nothing.” Thorin didn’t even bother to look up from the stove. He knew that he’d see Dís’ worried gaze, fixed in him intently.

“Then why are you sulking? No, don’t tell me you’re not,” she huffed, putting the bag she was sewing back on the table. “Ever since we talked to Bilbo you look like back then when…” she trailed off abruptly, and this made Thorin actually look at her. _When Frerin died_ hung between them, unsaid. “Will you tell me?”

Thorin shook his head, took the soup off the stove and put a cover on it to keep it warm. For a few moments he hovered over the table and finally dropped on a chair heavily. The cork it was made of creaked, but lasted.

“Bilbo is ill – he’s _dying_ , Dís, and I can’t do a single thing to save him. It’s – it’s like with Frerin all over again and I think – I don’t – I can’t handle this.”

He was surprised by himself – he didn’t want to say that much, apparently a habit he developed recently. He didn’t also want to talk about Frerin, it was usually the last topic he wanted to talk about, but all he said was true. He didn’t feel that helpless for years.

“Look, I know he’s terrified – who wouldn’t be? But Thorin, even if we can’t do anything, the other hob-beans…”

“He gives out parting gifts,” Thorin whispered, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, to stop thinking about his baby brother pressing his favourite tools in his hands all these years ago. “Taking you to the garden was one of them.”

There was a long pause, and suddenly Dís grasped his arm and forced herself up. There was a gleam in her eyes, and she even smiled at him, with a small and sad smile which she always had when she was thinking about the past.

“Then we must give them back,” she said softly, but there was an adamant note to her voice. “You said it yourself, he has his courage, you just need to help him find it. Even if he has to face the worst, he should not be afraid. This is what you can do.”

“You’re not really helpful,” he muttered, but she just squeezed his arm stronger.

“You’re not helpful either. Go, talk to him,” Dís huffed exasperatedly. “Don’t let him think too much.”

“Maybe I should send Kíli and Fíli instead,” he said, getting up slowly, cautious not to sway her off balance. “They would make him laugh at least.”

“I hope you’re not serious. I love my sons to bits,” she sighed heavily, walking slowly to the counter to taste the soup. “But their subtlety is even more legendary than yours, so it’s not the best choice. Just go.”

And, with his heart heavy in his chest, Thorin went through the dark corridors in the walls, climbed the ladder he made from a broken comb, and squeezed through a small door in wall panelling. To his surprise, despite the early hour, Bilbo was already in his bed, reading a leather-bound book. His face looked sombre and shut, and he didn’t show any signs of his good mood from the yesterday’s trip to the garden. With a sigh he climbed down the shelf and sat on the headboard, just above the boy’s head.

“How are you, Bilbo?”

Bilbo jumped and let go of the book. He smiled when he saw Thorin – a small, lopsided smile – but it was quickly replaced by a blush of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t come to you today,” he said, dropping his gaze. The fact that he didn’t really answered the question didn’t go unnoticed, but Thorin decided against prying any further. “And I’m so happy you came despite all of it.”

“I promised you in the workshop that I’d come, didn’t I.” And there it was, Bilbo was tentatively smiling again. Maybe Dís was right, just like she usually was – maybe there was something he could do after all. He took a deep breath, doing his best not to think too much. “Maybe – maybe I should tell you a story? A – a bedtime story?”

Bilbo blinked several times, and then smiled for real, with a hint of dimples showing at his face. He started to wiggle in the bed, making himself comfortable.

“Oh, please do! My mother always told me stories about the Tiny Folk, and it’s so brilliant that now you are going to tell me one! Do you have tales about hobbits too?”

“Not so much,” Thorin lied smoothly. Oh, there were tons of stories about the hob-beans, but they were used to scare the brains out of little Borrowers. For a brief moment he wondered what Bilbo’s mother had told him about them, but the disappointed sigh made him focus again. “It’s a story about a Borrower who always wanted to do good things. He was…” Thorin trailed off, unsure what he was doing, but there wasn’t much else he could tell Bilbo. He wanted the boy to fight, to be strong, to be brave, even in the darkest hour. There was only one story about all this he could tell. “He was very young, fair of hair, with smile always plastered to his face. He enjoyed borrowing, and liked to be outdoors, and one day, when he was roaming around the gardens of the Old Home, he met a hob-bean girl. They were… they became friends,” he managed, though he had to fight with himself to utter every single word. Bilbo seemed to see his struggle though, because he didn’t interrupt, but listened intensely. “They talked and laughed, and… and one day other hob-beans found them, and wanted to catch them, and… And the Borrowers had to find other home. They travelled in a kettle over a long and bumpy road, and weren’t very hopeful about their quest. But the cheerful Borrower, oh, he was full of hope. He couldn’t wait till they settle in a new place, and he was right, because it turned out to be a good place after all. But then… suddenly, the hob-beans left the house in a great rush, and – and the rats came. The Borrowers put up a fight and they won, but…”

And he couldn’t – he couldn’t say a single word more, they just wouldn’t leave his throat. He remembered Frerin in that corridor, wounded and alone; he remembered how helpless he was, how it hurt back then and how it did now.

“What was his name?” Bilbo asked softly. It was something that Thorin couldn’t stop wonder about, his will to get to know the Borrowers, the respect he held for their names and stories. It made him able to speak again.

“Frerin. He was my brother. After he was hurt – he wasn’t going to make it, and he knew that. But he was happy – he laughed – he made us laugh.” Thorin blinked several times, forcing the tears away. He was here to spread hope, and not to make Bilbo cry. “For the few days he had left, he was his usual happy self, and I can’t even imagine how he did that, but he did. And I know that you can do it too… Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, suddenly nervous. Bilbo’s face, open and smiling, and enraptured so far, suddenly twisted and lost all of its colour. “What happened, Bilbo? Are you hurting?”

“It’s nothing,” the boy said – or hissed rather through the gritted teeth. Unbelievably, he still attempted to smile. “but tell me – wasn’t he afraid? Wasn’t he…”

“Don’t… Bilbo, tell me what is happening!” Thorin demanded, assessing the pale face with terror. “What do I do now!”

“Nothing,” Bilbo whispered, curling up in a ball under the duvet. His eyes were shut tightly, and much to Thorin’s horror, he started to shiver. “It will – it will pass.”

Thorin surely hoped it will, but he had no intention of just waiting for it. There must be something to ease Bilbo’s aches – he heard the grown-up hob-beans talking aplenty about herbal tea and some pills – but he had no idea how to retrieve it. Bilbo whimpered quietly, and the sound made Thorin sick to the stomach. There had to be something which could be done; he just needed help in doing that.

Not thinking much, Thorin climbed back on the shelf and looked around. If he pushed something and made it fall, the noise could wake the grown-up beans and they would come to check on Bilbo. There was a small collection of dried acorns and he started by them, pushing them one by one. Each drop sounded powerful in his ears, but he could not hear even the smallest rustle from behind the wall. With even more desperation, swearing quietly under his breath, Thorin set out to push a book from the shelf, but could not make it move. A quick look around didn’t prove helpful at all – the shelf contained only more books and a chest of the size of their kitchen. Thorin looked down at Bilbo, still pale-faced and whimpering in pain, and made a decision.

He had to wake up the grown hob-beans, no matter what.

It was probably the most reckless thing Thorin did in his whole life, but at the time he didn’t ponder over it. He just whispered to Bilbo that he’d be back in a moment, even if the boy probably didn’t hear him, and disappeared in the wall panelling. The way to the bedroom of hob-beans was a long one, as he had to squeeze himself through the narrow, unused corridors cluttered with cobwebs and dust, but finally he made it. He stood on a nightstand, in the plain sight, and watched the two hob-beans intently, neither of them registered his presence though. The male bean slept quietly, with his face turned in Thorin’s direction; the female bean was breathing loudly through her nose and Thorin could not see much of her. It was good, though; the male hob-bean was less scary, all things considered. Thorin briefly contemplated throwing something again, but on the nightstand there were only a book and a lamp, both too heavy for him to even move.

He took a deep breath to calm down a bit, and then, with suddenly shaky hands, he moved to the end of the nightstand, stood on tiptoes and tugged a strand of the male hob-bean’s hair.

The hob-bean moved; Thorin let go and fell back with no grace whatsoever, like a bug in the garden. Then the hob-bean’s face, huge and blurry, hovered over him, blinking wildly. Thorin curled up, but the bean didn’t move any further, just observed Thorin with curiosity and expectation.

“You must go to Bilbo,” Thorin whispered slowly, fighting with himself to utter each word. The closeness of the hob-bean paralysed him, but he could not allow it, not now. “He’s hurt.”

After a moment which seemed to last forever, the hob-bean nodded, then pressed a finger to his mouth to hush Thorin and inclined his head towards the sleeping hob-bean lady. Thorin nodded too, and then, to his great relief, the hob-bean stood up and went out of the room, accompanied by the light snoring.

Taking a shaky breath, Thorin allowed himself to lay back for a while. It was probably the single most terrifying thing he ever did.

 _Frerin would be so proud_ , said Dís’ voice in his head.

*

The surprise welcome-home party was the single most terrifying experience in Bilbo’s life. It started quite nicely – Otho and Lobelia gave him a gift which turned out to be a dark-red vest with a set of round brass buttons, and Bilbo put it on with pleasure, and adorned with the red pin which he got from Fíli and Kíli. Then he just curled up in the corner and read a book of elven stories which he found in his mother’s library. But when three minutes to six Lobelia – wearing a lime-green dress with more ruffles than Bilbo ever saw in his life and a flower crown – hushed him out of his room, put a scarf on his eyes and led him blindfolded to the lawn behind the house, where a crowd of strange hobbits cheered on him, he felt his knees go weak and wobbly. Lobelia pressed a flower crown on his head and shouted a mercifully short invitation speech, and then the hobbits came to him in small family groups – Bagginses and Tooks, and Brandybucks, and Boffins, and Bolgers, and Proudfoots-sorry-Proudfeet – and they greeted him, and hugged him, and shook his hand, and some more cordial ones even kissed his cheeks. Bilbo tried to smile and shake hands, and ask polite questions, but his mouth went dry and his knees were wobbly all the time, and all he wanted was to curl up in his corner again.

But he couldn’t – there was a humongous sponge cake adorned with candied fruits and flowers which he had to cut, and a million of delicacies prepared especially for him which he had to try, and some parlour games that he had to take part in, and, the worst of all – the dance. Bilbo never danced and wasn’t too fond of it. Well, sometimes he liked to observe the elves moving graciously with fans and ribbons in their hands back in Rivendell, and he recalled his parents doing wild jigs when they were happy and Bilbo’s father was feeling better, but he never was one to participate. And here they expected him to stand in line and jump, twirl, clap his hands, and do it at the same time as other young hobbits did. He was close to fainting out of sheer nerves, but to his surprise Otho came to his rescue. Without much words he just nudged Bilbo towards a cushioned armchair, muttering something about resting, and produced a cup of the awful healthy herbal tea out of thin air. Bilbo sipped it with no protest and watched the dance to begin; from afar it seemed rather nice indeed, but he still preferred the silence of his room.

The party was getting better and better, and rolling somehow beside him. Lobelia would come to him every once in a while with a plate full of new delicious food he had to taste, and Otho would bring him cups and cups of tea, but once he retreated to the armchair, the guests seemed to have forgotten him, dancing and smiling, and gossiping to no end. Bilbo crumbled the biscuits and pasties Lobelia brought him and considered leaving them at the threshold even now, as no one looked at him. But the sun just set down and to general cheer an joy Otho lit a bonfire, and Bilbo felt himself captivated by the flame. It wasn’t that he was not familiar with the fire, but he didn’t remember taking part in a bonfire ever before. He flocked to it, enraptured, and a hobbit boy around his age got him a stick and a sausage to roast on it, someone else handed him a handful of marshmallows, and when the people started to sway around the fire to a low hum, he swayed with them too. The sausage and the marshmallows made him warm and drowsy, and he suddenly felt very tired and, for a first time in forever, very happy.

And then, out of a sudden, a high-pitched neighing interrupted the song, and a huge horse – not a pony like the hobbits usually used, but a horse for Big People and elves – galloped into the lawn. It carried the weirdest man Bilbo ever saw – tall, with long hair on his head and face, and with a big pointy hat on the top of his head. He jumped out of the horse’s back and put down his comrade, a big hobbit with a mess of short curly hair and an upturned nose. For a second Bilbo could not believe his eyes, but then he bolted towards the unexpected guests.

“Mum! Mum, you came!”

Belladonna Baggins, for it indeed was her, hugged Bilbo tightly and ruffled his hair; the tall man accompanying her just laughed at the cuddles.

“Bilbo, this is Gandalf the Grey, my dear friend and a wizard,” Belladonna explained, and the man waggled his eyebrows at Bilbo in the funniest manner. “He knows a way to help you and…”

“Belladonna, cousin dear!” Lobelia run towards them with Otho in tow, all smiles and curtsies. “I am so glad that we finally meet now, when we are a family!”

“Oh, I am pleased too,” Belladonna replied, though she sounded rather unimpressed than happy. “And I can see that you’ve made yourself at home in Bag End, Lobelia dear.”

“Well, I, uh, I just arranged this small garden party for Bilbo to meet the closest family and…” Under the weight of Belladonna’s stare Lobelia trailed off, but she quickly regained her composure. “And I must say that the sponge cake turned out to be rather delicious – would you and this – I mean, your friend – have some?”

“How charming,” Gandalf commented, bowing his head towards Lobelia. “I would indeed taste your cake with pleasure, madam, and with a drop of the famous cherry of the Shire, but alas, we do not have time for that.”

“I’m taking Bilbo with me right now,” Belladonna confirmed, tightening her fingers around Bilbo’s shoulder. “Thank you for taking care for him, cousin dear, but we shall leave immediately.”

“No!”

Bilbo and Lobelia looked at each other, surprised that they both shared the sentiment, but Lobelia was quicker to recover.

“Cousin, you _can’t_ just leave like that! I _must_ pack you some snacks and drinks for the journey – Otho, come and help me, you slowpoke! Just five minutes, dears!” And with that, she run towards the house, hitching up her skirts and tugging Otho behind her at the same time. Belladonna watched after her quietly for a second, then shook her head and turned towards Bilbo.

“I know I promised you some rest, love,” she said quietly, touching his nose with her index finger, and Bilbo couldn’t but smile at that, as he always did. “But this time we will help you. Gandalf found the way.”

“But I can’t just go,” he protested desperately. “I – I’ve made friends here, and I can’t just leave them!”

“Then go and say goodbye. You’ll get back here soon, if you want…” Belladonna paused and looked at Bilbo’s sad, almost terrified face. “What’s wrong, love? Aren’t they here at the party?”

Bilbo looked up at Gandalf, but the wizard didn’t pay attention to them; he was watching the hobbits dancing around the bonfire with a pensive smile on his lips. Relieved, Bilbo stood on his tiptoes and bowed to his mother’s ear.

“They are the Tiny Folk,” he whispered. “They hid in the house.”

“Then let’s go and find them,” Belladonna urged, and pecked him in the forehead. “But we must travel away soon, Bilbo. We need to board a boat, and it won’t wait for us. But let’s go now.”

And so they did – they run towards the threshold hand in hand, and Bilbo called Thorin and Dís, and Fíli, and Kíli, but no one replied. Then they went to his bedroom, and to the hall, knocking at the walls, calling out the names, but the only response was Lobelia’s surprised face when she went out to them with the food.

“What’s wrong, Bilbo dear, did you lose something?”

Bilbo suddenly felt very weak, because he lost something indeed. But the Borrowers wanted him to be brave, didn’t they? He looked at Lobelia, then at Belladonna, and then sprinted to the kitchen as fast as he could. Ignoring Otho who was still wrapping sandwiches in neat packages he climbed the shelves, took out a handful of noodles and run out without a word. With trembling hands he stuffed the noodles up the hole in the threshold, hoping that the Borrowers would understand.

“I will be brave, I promise!” he shouted, ignoring Lobelia’s shocked gasps. “I’ll get back to you, my friends!”

There was no reply of course – the Borrowers would not go out to him at such circumstances, and he understood it, he did, but it was too much for him to handle right now. So he just let Lobelia hug him close and screech her advice and good-byes, and he shook Otho’s hand, and he allowed himself to be taken on the horse’s back. He was leaving Bag End  and the Borrowers with no guarantee that he would ever see them again, and even the embrace of his mother’s arms was no consolation for him.

*

It was already late, Otho could feel it in his arms and back. He was working on the chest for the whole day, and it wasn’t an easy task – the planks didn’t fit no matter what he did. With a deep sigh he straightened up and put his tools away.

And then he heard the smallest noise, just like the one a nail makes when it rolls on the shelf. It wouldn’t be strange if Otho wasn’t sure that there were no loose nails in this workshop. There never were any, unless he left them there on purpose. Oh, he left and lost quite a lot of things on purpose – nails and wood chips, cookies and candle ends, pieces of rubber and scraps of paper. And he knew well that the nails didn’t roll on the shelves on their own, even before he met the Tiny Folk in person.

Without turning his head, he smiled broadly and waved at the shelf in a greeting.

“We got a letter from Belladonna yesterday,” he said in a low voice of someone who rarely spoke and always measured his words. The small sound of rolling stopped abruptly and he could swear he could hear a gasp. “And she says that the therapy helped and Bilbo is better. So, you know – I thought that I should tell you. He is coming back home soon.”


End file.
